


Surprising Side-Effects

by Angel_Waters



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, There is a puppy, but it’s not really a puppy, originally inspired by pictures of Tom Hardy with a puppy, this was supposed to be just a bit of fluff, this was supposed to be just a bit of smut, this was supposed to be short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-26 03:41:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2636681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angel_Waters/pseuds/Angel_Waters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is in trouble, and Eames is the only person he knows he can trust.<br/>(Originally inspired by pictures of Tom Hardy with a puppy.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [earlgreytea68](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/gifts).



I sit on the doorstep of the building that holds the apartment that I know Eames is currently calling “home” — a generous use of the word — and try to avoid the biting December winds as much as possible. I curl into myself for warmth and duck my head to hide my nose in the soft fur covering my forearm. It’s just starting to snow, and I’m thankful to have my new coat even if I’m not particularly pleased with _why_ I have it. I ignore random passersby, barely resisting the urge to snap at the few who come a bit too close for comfort given my current situation. My ears finally pick up the sound of familiar footsteps and I lift my head to watch him approach.

“Hello, what are you doing here?” Eames asks with a soft smile, more genuine than any I’ve ever seen from him before.

I sit up a little straighter and regard him silently, trying not to shiver too noticeably. His hair is styled differently than the last time I saw him and the more natural look suits him, especially when paired with a somber black and green plaid sweater — a far cry from the stiffly gelled comb-over and garish shirts he’d chosen for most of our previous jobs together. Even his scruff has been carefully groomed into a short beard, and I find myself distracted by the unexpected change.

“You must be freezing, and the weather is only going to get worse tonight. You should probably come inside for a bit,” he offers as he enters a code to open the door.

I stand on stiff legs and lead the way to the elevator, which causes Eames to give me a curious look before he pushes the up arrow. We ride to the fifth floor in silence, and I take the lead again as we walk quickly to his door.

“You certainly seem to know your way around,” he remarks with a slight frown.

I glare at him over my shoulder, my lip curling slightly into a frustrated snarl before I think better of antagonizing the person I just spent the past _eternity_ waiting for, then look back at the door with an impatient huff.

“After you,” he waves me through once it’s finally been opened and immediately locks it again behind us.

I glance around the room, then pace to the large sliding glass door that exits to the balcony. There’s not much of a view, but it offers a quick escape should the need arise.

Eames disappears into the kitchen, getting himself a drink, and I take the newspaper off the breakfast table to flip through while I wait for him to finish. The article I need is near the back, just a snippet of somewhat relevant information. I push the paper toward Eames, tapping the article when he turns around.

“What—” he starts, looking between myself and the article a few times before picking up the newspaper.

I watch him intently as he skims the section I’d indicated.

“Surprising side-effects of a botched batch of Somnacin,” he reads aloud before turning his attention back to me. “Catchy title, though it’s a bit sketchy on the details.”

I narrow my eyes, irritated. It’s clear that he knows more than he’s letting on, and I am in no mood for him to be deliberately obtuse.

He sighs and covers his face for a moment. He sounds tired, exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with a lack of proper sleep and everything to do with realizing what must have happened.

I stare intently until he looks at me again — really _looks_ this time — his eyes guarded in the way I’ve become used to during our years of working together. 

“Arthur, you’ve been turned into a [dog](http://www.laineygossip.com/Tom-Hardy-and-the-puppy-and-the-PA/26333).”

I try to make an affirmative noise, internally cringing when it comes out as little more than a whine.

“Actually, you make a rather adorable puppy,” he points out with a completely unnecessary amount of humor.

I give him an unimpressed look, fervently wishing I could tell him to fuck off. Unfortunately, he’s the only person in the area that I know I can trust while I’m all but defenseless. Plus the whole “turned into a dog and unable to actually speak” problem.

“Oh, fine. Calm down. Is there anything I can do to help, or do we just have to wait until it wears off?” he asks, suddenly acting like the professional I’d always thought he could be if he would only put in a bit of effort.

I bark twice.

“Waiting it is, then. Any idea how long this will last?”

I shake my head, feeling my ridiculous ears flopping around with the movement.

“Alright. I’m calling Yusuf to ask if he knows of a way to reverse it.”

I growl at the suggestion, but Eames just gives me a look that clearly says I should shut up and accept whatever help I can get. I grumble quietly as I stalk into the other room, curling up on the couch and using my teeth to pull on the blanket that had been draped over the back until it covers me sufficiently.

I’ve fallen asleep by the time he hangs up the phone and joins me. It can’t have been even 24 hours, yet I feel as though I haven’t slept in days.

“Lucky for you, Yusuf happens to be fairly close at the moment. Shall we?” he asks, gesturing with a broad sweep of his arm.

I stretch, hop off the couch, and stretch again before trotting over to the front door. I wait while Eames takes a jacket out of the coat closet and grabs his keys, then we make our way back to the elevator and out to the main road. The snow is coming down in force now; not quite a storm, but well on its way. I shiver violently and duck my head against the wind as I follow Eames along the sidewalk, glaring at the empty street and desperately wishing for a taxi.

“You’re just not cut out for this weather, even with your lovely fur coat,” Eames says as he bends down to scoop me into his arms.

I let out a particularly undignified yelp as the ground suddenly vanishes from beneath my paws, but then he bundles me into his jacket and it’s so perfectly _warm_ that I can’t bring myself to put up much of a fight much after the first few seconds of disgruntled squirming.

“Hold still, pet. It’s just a few blocks. No one ever has to know how we get there,” he soothes. One hand stays underneath to support me, and the other comes up to gently scratch behind my ear.

I feel my tail wag before I can suppress the instinct and immediately turn to nip at his fingers. It’s not a hard bite, but it gets the message across.

“Feisty little thing, aren’t you? Save that for the bedroom, darling. Once you’re back in your usual form, of course.”

I bury myself completely inside the warmth of his jacket and decide to ignore him for the rest of the walk to Yusuf’s.

“I know you’re still upset with him for that nasty business of not warning us that the sedative used during the Fischer job would send us to Limbo if we died in the dream, but is your new chemist accidentally turning you into a dog really any better? At least Yusuf knew what he was doing,” Eames says after a few minutes.

I’m not entirely convinced it _was_ an accident, but I can’t exactly communicate that to him, so I just grumble and huff and leave it at that.

“Well, it’s nice to know you’re still your charming self regardless of what shape you’re in.”

I hear a heavy door open and close, then Eames is carefully lowering himself until I can slip out from underneath his jacket without injury. He stands up again and strides through the maze of hallways until I feel almost dizzy from trying to keep track of all the turns we’ve made. Eames looks like he’s concentrating, and I wonder if he’s trying to remember the route or if there’s something else on his mind. 

“Here we are,” he announces at last.

The final door opens and there’s Yusuf, mixing chemicals and writing notes about their various reactions. He looks up when we enter the room and waves a hand towards the couch next to the PASIV device, telling us to have a seat and wait for “just a bit” while he finishes.

I claim the corner farthest from Yusuf’s experiment, leaving the closer side for Eames to act as a human shield should anything spill or explode. My posture is rigid, radiating my displeasure toward the entire situation.

Eames settles down with his feet kicked out and crossed at the ankles, hands behind his head on the back of the couch, seeming perfectly relaxed as he watches Yusuf work. 

“So sorry about that. I just had to make sure the mixture was stable enough to leave unattended,” Yusuf explains as he takes a seat on the nearby chair.

“Don’t worry about it, mate. What do you know about fixing this botched Somnacin problem?” Eames asks, tilting his head in my direction as if there’s even a _chance_ that Yusuf could have _possibly_ missed the fact that I currently look like an angry puppy.

“Well, obviously this is a relatively new development. The current theory suggests putting the effected person into a dream, during which they need to _will_ themselves to regain their human shape. It would probably be easier if he were a forger like yourself, and therefor used to changing his appearance, but I believe you can talk him through the process once you’re both within the dream world.”

“Sounds simple enough.”

I roll my eyes, then nose at the PASIV while trying to make a vaguely questioning noise.

“I think he’s wondering if the Somnacin will work on dogs? Or if you know the proper dosage? Or how to put an IV into a dog?” Eames translates for me.

“Yes, certainly. Almost everything is tested on animals first, you know. I’ve done my fair share of trials before deeming the compounds safe to try on humans,” Yusuf admits. It seems like he doesn’t approve of testing on animals, but he still did what he thought was necessary to protect his human test subjects.

“What do you say, Arthur? Would you like me to sleep with you?” Eames asks with a wink.

If I felt like being entirely honest, the answer would be _no_. At least, not under these circumstances. I don’t know what could happen once we’re down the in dream together: how the botched Somnacin might interfere, how being a dog might influence the nature of the dream, or if Eames could be effected by either of those variables in any way. I _hate_ not knowing. My entire job is based upon my knowing the risks and planning for every possible scenario. 

“It’s your best chance at fixing this. Let me help you,” Eames practically begs.

I stare at him for a moment longer before I nod and lie down, offering a paw for Yusuf to place the IV.

Eames offers his arm after Yusuf has finished with mine. He smiles at me, a steadying presence at my side, and places a hand over my outstretched paw just before our eyes slip closed.

The dream is nothing special. A simple park, with a cool breeze whistling through the tree leaves. There are no projections; no people out for a stroll, no birds chirping in the trees, no sign of life other than Eames and myself.

“The first thing you need to do is focus on how you want to look once the forgery is complete. Then, think of yourself as you are now and try to imagine how you would need to physically change to become — in this case — yourself,” Eames begins.

I think of my human body and try to imagine how it could be reduced to a furry little puppy, then try to think of it in reverse. When I feel like I have some idea of how it might work, I nod for him to continue.

“Focus on the vision you’ve created in your mind’s eye, how it all fits together. Your limbs would grow longer, the fur would recede, your ears and tail would shrink. Think of all the little details and work your way out to the big picture again. Imagine yourself actually changing as you do, inch by inch, one detail at a time. Sometimes it helps to use a mirror,” Eames explains slowly, pausing to make sure I’ve kept up with each step before moving on to the next. He reaches into his coat and pulls out a mirror as tall as his entire upper body from hip to shoulder and just as wide as his chest is broad.

I look at myself, trying to reconcile the small gray dog with my human body. It’s difficult, but Eames is patient. Once he’s sure I’ve taken in all the details of this form, he sets the mirror aside and tells me to close my eyes. He goes over the steps again, and I try to do exactly what he says.

“Open your eyes, darling. Take a look,” Eames urges after a few minutes.

I look into the mirror he’s holding for me, and I can hardly believe it when I see _myself_. I tear my eyes away from my own reflection to regard Eames when he speaks.

“Close your eyes. Try to hold on to the image and feel of your own body as we wake up.”

“You think it actually changed anything up in the real world?” I ask skeptically.

“One way to find out,” he shrugs as the music starts playing to let us know the dream is about to end.

I close my eyes, and when I open them again, I find myself curled up on the couch next to Eames. He’s holding my hand, _my human hand_ , his thumb tracing gentle circles over my knuckles. I use my other hand to touch my face, partly to make sure there are no traces of fur lingering anywhere and partly to make sure everything is shaped the way it’s supposed to be.

“How do you feel?” he asks once I’ve finished my inspection. 

“Surprisingly okay. I can’t believe that worked.”

“Well, I’m very glad that it did. Thank you for your help, Yusuf. I’m sure Arthur will send you a fruit basket or some such once he’s recovered from this terrible ordeal,” Eames calls over his shoulder as he hauls me to my feet and guides me towards the door.

 

The gunshot is a surprise.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally posted as part of Chapter 1. I decided to break it up differently for dramatic effect and because I think I'm probably going to add more chapters, and it makes more sense this way in the end. If you already read Chapter 1 as it was originally posted on 17 November 2014, nothing has actually been changed in the story.

The next time I open my eyes, all I see is blinding white. Things slowly come into focus: too white walls, too bright lights, too many machines beeping in the small room. Eames is hooked up to a PASIV device next to me, starting to wake up.

“What the fuck just happened?” I demand, voice hoarse from disuse.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine. Are you alright?” He asks, groaning as he sits up in the flimsy plastic chair.

“I’m fine. Now answer the question,” I snap at him.

“The botched Somnacin, the one that causes you to transform into an animal, it’s obviously not real. There is, however, a form that makes the mind more susceptible to outside influence. I’ve seen it before.”

“Of course you have. Why are you even here?” I prompt when he stops to glare at the floor.

“Someone found you and called for an ambulance. Cobb was listed as your emergency contact, but with the kids... Well, he called me to fill in.”

“Tell me everything. Don’t make me ask again, Mr Eames.”

“The people you were working with were actually hired by someone who wanted to take you out of the game, so to speak. They put you into a coma and then planted the idea in your head. If you’d woken up still thinking you were a dog, there might not have been a cure for it. You could’ve spent the rest of your life acting like a bloody puppy. Or you might have just gone completely crazy.”

“If all the doctors knew was that I was in a coma, why did you go into my dream? You could’ve ended up trapped within the insanity, same as me,” I point out.

“Someone had to rescue you. And you’re lucky it was me, by the way. If it was anyone else, you’d probably still be there.”

“How did you even know what to do? How did you know the dog was me?”

“That was the easy part. Only you could look so thoroughly annoyed with me. And, like I said, I’ve seen it before. Figuring out how to convince you to turn yourself back into a human? Now _that_ was tricky. I’ve never tried to teach someone how to forge, but it was the only thing I could think of. So I faked a call to Yusuf and created the labyrinth to buy myself a bit of time to figure it out,” Eames answers with a shrug.

“That was fairly impressive architecture, especially given the circumstances. Why didn’t you just tell me I was still dreaming?

“Your mind would’ve torn itself apart. You know what happened with Mal? That’s nothing, _nothing_ , compared to what this shite can do to you.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Eames gets that look on his face — the one that says he’s about to make some ridiculous comment that will leave me torn between wanting to kiss him or shoot him — but I cut him off before he gets the chance.

“Thank you,” I say more firmly. “For everything.”

He nods and then asks, “Shall I fetch the good doctors now?”

“Yeah. I wonder why they haven’t come already.” 

“Saito’s orders. He wanted to make sure we were undisturbed until that brilliant brain of yours was safe.” 

“Saito? How is _he_ involved with any of this?”

“I may have called him,” Eames admits as he stands up. “Don’t worry about it, darling. You won’t owe him anything for his help.”

He’s gone before I can respond to that, and doesn’t come back with the doctors. I answer their questions, submit myself to their tests, and finally demand to be discharged from the hospital because clearly there is nothing _medically_ wrong with me now that I’m no longer in a fucking coma.

By the time I actually get released, Eames is nowhere to be found. I call the number I had for him on our last job together — of course it’s been disconnected at this point — and hail a taxi. I give directions to his apartment.

 

The building looks just the same as in my dream.

 

I push the numbers Eames had entered to unlock the door and jog up the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. I hesitate in front of his apartment, wondering if I should just leave him be, but remind myself that he _knows_ that I know about this place. If he really wanted to avoid me, he would’ve gone literally anywhere else in the world. I rap my knuckles against the door in three sharp staccato bursts.

There’s a long pause before I hear the subtle scrape of metal against metal as the door is unlocked. It finally opens, then I see Eames standing there with a half-empty beer in hand and promptly forget everything I’d planned to say.

“Arthur, what are you doing here?” Eames asks, echoing his words from the dream but without any hint of a smile this time around. He sounds resigned, more than anything. He looks it, too, as he steps back and waves me inside.

“Why did you do it, Eames?” I ask after we’ve relocated to the plush leather sofa.

“I couldn’t just leave you like that, could I? It’s hardly the first time one of us has helped the other get out of a bit of trouble.”

“This wasn’t just a bit of trouble. You didn’t just put yourself in danger. We’ve done that for each other hundreds of times, both in dreams and in reality. That’s almost to be expected at this point,” I admit with a shaky laugh.

He seems to agree with that, nodding and smiling slightly.

“Risking your life to save mine is one thing, but what you did today... You risked your _sanity_ for me. Why would you do that?”

“Surely you know the answer to that.”

“Would I be asking if I did?”

“Arthur, I will _always_ save you. I’d send myself all the way down into _Limbo_ if that’s what it took to keep you safe.” 

“You—” I can’t even finish the thought before practically throwing myself across the couch and tackling him into a kiss. 

Eames makes a startled noise, but his hands instinctively come up to catch me. He drags me closer half a second later and kisses me as if he’s afraid it will be his only chance.

Eventually I have to pull away so that both of us can inhale properly. I rest my forehead against his, eyes still closed and fingers still gripping his shirt like he might try to escape if I let go.

“Not to spoil the mood, but what brought this on?” he asks after a moment.

“You were serious.” 

“I’d never joke about Limbo,” he responds, managing to sound vaguely offended even while panting for breath.

“No, I mean with all the flirting. You’re serious.”

“Of course. What did you think it was all about?”

“I thought you were just trying to get laid,” I confess as I open my eyes and lean back enough to see him clearly.

“Well, that would be splendid,” he smirks as he grinds our hips together, “but it’s not the only thing I’m after.”

I moan, letting my eyes fall shut as I rub myself against him and dip my head to kiss him again. 

“I thought you weren’t interested in this — in _me_ ,” he says quietly when we break apart.

“I’ve always been interested in you. I’m _not_ interested in a one night stand, and I’m _not_ interested in being just another conquest for you to brag about, but I am _very_ interested in pursuing a relationship with you.”

“I certainly wouldn’t have turned you down, darling, but I never wanted some casual fling with you either. You should know that _I_ am very interested pursuing a relationship with _you_. In fact, I am desperately in love with you and I am very interested in spending the rest of my life with you. Does that sound like something you might want?” Eames asks, sounding utterly confident until the question at the end.

“ _Yes_ ,” I answer emphatically, my voice managing to break despite the brevity of the word.

He surges up to kiss me. One hand moves to cup the back of my head while the other works at untucking my shirt until there’s enough room to slip underneath. He doesn’t push for more, seeming content with that small bit of skin-to-skin contact.

I unbutton his shirt and let my hands wander as I nip at his ridiculously tempting bottom lip before licking into his mouth when it opens for me. I roll my hips into his, both of us moaning at the friction, and trail one of my hands down to stroke just above the waistband of his jeans.

“Arthur,” he gasps as his head falls back onto the sofa, “I am perfectly happy to go as fast or slow as you want, but I need to know how far you want to take this while I still have some tiny smidgen of self-control.”

I lift my head from where I’d started kissing my way down his neck and regard him silently for a moment before climbing off of him and standing up.

He closes his eyes and takes a calming breath, clearly thinking I don’t want to continue, but I grab his hand and haul him to his feet.

“We’ve been dancing around each other for _years_. I’m done waiting. I don’t have a preference for who does the penetrating this time, though I would like to both give and receive in the future. Now, if it’s alright with you, I’d really love for the two of us to get naked and start fucking,” I tell him with a lascivious grin.

Eames makes a strangled noise, and the look on his face makes me wonder if I actually _broke his brain_ with that little declaration. Then pulls me into a kiss as he lifts me straight up off the floor and carries me into the bedroom.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally inspired by these pictures of Tom Hardy with a puppy.  
> http://www.laineygossip.com/Tom-Hardy-and-the-puppy-and-the-PA/26333
> 
> This was just supposed to be a super short bit of fluff and smut. Instead my life was completely hijacked for a week and I ended up with this monstrosity: 4k words of drama and angst and love confessions and what could basically be taken as a marriage proposal before we ever really get to the sexytimes.
> 
> I dedicate this to earlgreytea68 because, while I did like the Arthur/Eames ship before, she made me fall in love with them. If you aren’t familiar with her work, go fix that right now.
> 
> Seriously. Read every single word she has ever written. Right now. Even if it doesn’t sound like the type of story you would normally enjoy. You will love it.


	3. Chapter 3

Eames tries to set me down on the bed, but I keep my arms wrapped around his shoulders and lock my ankles behind his back to drag him down with me. I remove his shirt and flip us over without breaking the kiss, smiling at his surprised gasp, then lick and bite my way down his neck. I slow down to thoroughly explore his chest, mentally cataloging which spots cause the best reactions, and work my way down his abs while undoing his jeans.

He lifts his hips encouragingly, so I take the opportunity to slide his pants down. His shoes have already been kicked off, making it easy to strip him completely naked as I crawl backwards until I'm standing at the foot of the bed. I stare down at him -- hair in complete disarray from my fingers, lips red and swollen from my kisses, neck and chest marked from my little love-bites, cock hard and eager for my touch  -- before lifting my gaze to meet his.

"Enjoying the view?" Eames asks with a pleased grin.

"Remind me why we waited so long to do this?"

"Because we're both bloody idiots who need to work on their communication skills. Come on, now. You are wearing far too many clothes. Strip for me," he requests with a just hint of command in his tone, like he's not quite sure how an order would sit with me.

I lick my lips, tasting the salt of his skin, and pull my sweater-vest up over my head. It falls to the floor as I loosen my tie, which I toss to Eames before starting on the buttons of my shirt.

He lifts an eyebrow, running the smooth silk through his fingers, and I wink at him as my shirt flutters to the floor. I toe off my shoes and unbuckle my belt, watching him steadily as I remove the last of my clothing.

"Where do you want me, _Mr Eames_?" I ask in a desire-roughened voice. 

"You know, I've often fantasized about all the ways I could use this," he lifts the tie in emphasis. "Maybe I would bind your hands to the headboard so you're stretched out all in a long line for me, unable get any leverage and forced to just take whatever I give you. Or maybe bind them behind your back instead, get you on your knees with no way to hold yourself up while I fuck you into the mattress."

I feel my cock twitch at that, and he smiles knowingly.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Or maybe I'd blindfold you with it and have you kneel on the floor, sucking me off by touch alone. I could use it to gag you so you don't disturb the neighbors while I find all the ways to make you scream my name."

I almost scoff at that, but the dark promise in his eyes makes me bite my tongue. If anyone could make me cry out with pleasure, it would be him.

"Maybe I'll wrap it around your cock and wind you up until you're _begging_ me to let you come," he suggests as he trails the length of fabric over his own cock. Then he sits up and sets the tie aside. "But for our first time, I think I'd rather just have you writhing and desperate beneath me."

I let him take my hand and guide me down onto the bed, on my back this time. He props himself up on an elbow, the other hand reaching across to gently cup my jaw. It glides behind my ear in a gentle caress, much like he'd done in the dream while I was still a puppy, and I tilt my head to give him better access. He smirks, but moves his fingers down my neck and over my chest without comment.

I'm happy to let him map out the contours of my body, but I'd also like to move things along, so I close my eyes and give my cock a lazy squeeze as I arch into his caress.

"Darling, you're going to be the death of me," Eames groans.

"Oh, yes. Definitely. But only _la petit mort_ ," I chuckle as he opens one of the bedside table drawers to grab a bottle of lubricant.

"We're both clean, but if it would make you more comfortable...?" he trails off as he also takes out a condom, holding it up for me to see.

"Normally I would insist, but I don't think it's necessary for us."

He seems pleased with that response, and his grin turns predator-sharp as he shifts to lean over me. He captures my lips in a fiery kiss, distracting enough that I almost jump when one slick finger circles my entrance before gently pressing inside. He rotates his wrist to ensure an even coat of lubricant, then begins slowly pumping in and out. His lips move down my neck, my chest, my stomach, and then I'm engulfed in the wet warmth of his mouth at the same moment he adds a second finger.

I gasp out his name and spread my legs a little wider, encouraging him to move faster. The vibrations from his answering moan have my hips bucking up into his mouth before I can force myself to lie still. 

He makes an amused sort of humming noise and adds a third finger, twisting and curling and stretching until I'm biting back curses and on the verge of begging him to just _fuck me_. He pulls off with an obscene pop and I groan at the loss of contact.

"Patience, darling. I'll take care of you," he promises as he carefully removes his fingers.

A moment later I feel the head of his cock, thick and slick and _perfect_ as it eases past the tight ring of muscle. I clamp my teeth over the pulse point in his neck and we moan in unison as he slowly buries himself completely inside.

He gives a few shallow thrusts while I adjust to his size, then pulls out almost all the way and slides back in.

"Come on, Eames. I'm not made of glass. I won't break. Now fuck me like you mean it," I demand breathlessly.

He rises to the challenge and abandons his steady pace, pounding into me forcefully enough to make the bed-frame creak in protest.

I grip his shoulders and plant my feet on the mattress so I can meet his thrusts, giving every bit as good as I'm getting. The angle of his hips shifts slightly when I drag him into a sloppy kiss and he swallows my cries of pleasure as his cock repeatedly strikes my prostate.

"I want to see you come undone," he murmurs in my ear, voice gone so deep that it's barely more than a growl.

He braces himself on one arm and the other hand slips between us. There's still a bit of lube to ease the way as his fist glides over my aching shaft, pumping in time with his thrusts.

My voice sounds absolutely _wrecked_ when I call out his name, clenching around him as my orgasm blocks out everything but the overwhelming ecstasy.

Eames buries his face in the curve of my neck and groans as he finds his own release. He manages to roll slightly to the side so he won't crush me while we regain our senses, though he doesn't pull out.

I trace idle designs over his back and shoulders, content to stay exactly where we are until the aftershocks have ebbed.

"Bloody hell. I knew you'd feel amazing, but that was..." he trails off, unable to find a word that captures the euphoria.

I hum in agreement and kiss whatever part of his body is closest, probably a bicep judging by the ripple of muscle.

"Let's get you in the shower. You're a hot mess, and we both know you won't be very pleased with me if I let you fall asleep in this state."

"True," I sigh and then make a face as he withdraws.

He just laughs and kisses the tip of my nose before getting up to start the water. He calls me in once it's hot enough, letting me rinse off while he lathers soap on a washcloth and proceeds to bathe every inch of my skin.

I take the cloth from him to return the favor, starting at his shoulders and slowly working all the way down to his ankles. I stay on my knees once I've finished, leaning back so I can comfortably look up at him while the water cascades over his body.

Eames glances down at me once the suds are gone, then does a double-take when he notices the position I'm in.

I lazily stroke myself back to full hardness while he watches and I flash my dimples in a feral grin when his body responds in kind. I lean forward, licking from root to tip and swirling my tongue around his glans without breaking eye contact. He braces his hands on the wall behind me when I take him into my mouth, sucking him all the way down until my nose is buried in the coarseness of his pubic hair and my lips are sealed around the base of his shaft.

"Holy fuck," he groans as I swallow around him.

I pull back just enough to breathe and then do it again. I place my hands on his hips to gently guide him back and forth until he takes the hint and starts moving on his own, cautiously at first but then faster when I moan and drop a hand to stroke myself in time with his thrusts. His fingers curl into my hair to hold my head still while he fucks my face, and I slip my free hand between his legs to rub a finger against his puckered hole.

"Yes," he answers quickly.

He slows his pace and spreads his legs a bit to give me room to work that finger inside so Eames impales himself every time he pulls out of my throat. I'm tempted to add another, but know it would probably hurt him with only water to ease the way. I change the angle just the tiniest bit as he moves, subtly trying to find his prostate instead. He curses delightfully when I succeed, and I make sure to hold my hand so that my finger continues to brush over it.

"Arthur... I'm close," he pants between more colorful expletives.

I hum encouragingly and after a few more thrusts his grip on my hair becomes almost painfully tight as he spills himself down my throat.

He falls to his knees, looking slightly dazed for a moment, but quickly shakes off the stupor and urges me to my feet. He knocks my hand away, then takes me into his mouth and slips two fingers inside at once. I'm still stretched enough from our previous activities for it to be enjoyable, the hint of pain only increasing the pleasure. Our eyes meet and hold as he scissors his fingers and _sucks_ , his tongue flat against the underside of my cock as he hollows his cheeks. 

I gasp out his name -- no time for any more warning than that -- and he swallows every last drop without breaking eye contact. My back hits the tile wall but the cold barely registers. I'm too caught up in the moment, staring down at Eames until my brain starts working again and I offer him a hand up.

He fetches clean towels while I shut off the water, then we dry ourselves before wearily climbing into bed together. At first, we just lie next to each other on our backs -- almost like we would if we were going under for a job -- but after a few minutes we turn to face each other simultaneously.

He chuckles quietly and I offer a dimpled smile, amused by our synchronicity. It shouldn't really come as a surprise, given the number of times we've worked together in near-perfect unison, but it's comforting to know that our rapport extends beyond the dreamscape now that our personal relationship isn't tainted by miscommunication.

"In case it hasn't already been made perfectly clear, you should know that I'm desperately in love with you too," I inform him as I snuggle closer.

The words are a bit muffled by my face being somewhat mashed against his chest, but he hums contentedly and kisses the top of my head. I figure he understood well enough and fall asleep with a smile on my face for the first time in years.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: I'd like to share a picture that is definitely 100% relevant to this story...  
> http://shechive.files.wordpress.com/2010/07/eye-candy-tom-hardy-21.jpg
> 
> Second: I've never gotten into the whole "dirty talk" thing. In real life it usually just kind of makes me uncomfortable, and I haven't tried to write it into fics very often but whenever I do it always seems to come out forced and not really sexy at all so I end up removing it when editing. I think it seems pretty natural for Eames here? God, they just talk forever, don't they... Even while writing it I was like "shut up and start fucking already!!!" but whatever, this is what flowed. I usually don't try to write truly explicit scenes because I feel awkward trying to find "sexy" words for all the anatomy, but I'm really trying to get better about it. I'm also fairly new to writing M/M fics, so there's that too... I think it turned out well?
> 
> Third: I did watch the movie when it first came out, but only recently started getting into the Inception fandom (yeah, I know, I'm super late the party) and I'm loving it so far! I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. *\\(^_^)/*


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